The Lies We Live
by It Slowly Faded Away
Summary: He had never understood until then. Had never realized how precious this was. He thinks it's fitting. But then she notices him, notices the mask slipping and the cracks forming, and she makes a promise to herself and to this boy. He's going to live his life, to embrace it. Harry can't bring himself to fight it either, to fight her. Fleur/Harry. AU Fourth year. Sick!Harry.


**Chapter 1**

Their hands brushed against each other, fingers linking together as they laid on the grass. His face was looking towards the sky and he was the most relaxed she had seen in quite a long time. The rough edges had been smoothed, the shadows wiped away, if just for a moment. His lips were tugged into a small smile, a soft, gentle one that made him look whimsical and both older and younger than he actually was. He hadn't smiled like that for months. This smile was real, she knew. It was not bitter or sad or forced. It was not put there for others sakes nor was it shaky with tears. This was the kind of smile that one gave on accident, one that you never noticed until it was already there. It was the kind of smile to surprise you. She was grateful for it; she had always loved surprises. His eyes, greener than the grass they were stretched out upon, were tired but happy. He hadn't been sleeping again and it was getting harder for him. He didn't tell her this though. He didn't want her to worry but she knew. She always knew. She could see it in the way his face would fall ever so slightly when walking. Could see it when he'd huff a tiny, breathless sigh and tug fruitlessly on his bag. Could see it when he pushed his food around on his plate, fork scraping against the porcelain. Could see it when he ran a hand over his face, flipping the pages in his book with a lazy flick of his wrist. Could see it when he yawned but kept going because his friends were waiting for him and he needed to get this essay done for McGonagall and god if he could just have a second-only he didn't have a second. He was running out of time and they all knew it.

But she didn't want to think about that so instead she focused on his eyes again.

They were light and easy, peaceful, as they gazed up and looked upon the clouds. Occasionally he would lift his hand and trace shapes out, quietly whispering to her what he saw. She swore he could see the universe. Nothing was out of his reach. The whole entire existence of life, of everything, was before him and he could grasp it so swiftly without even noticing it, without even seeing that his hands were full.

The only thing he couldn't reach was time. It was everyone's enemy but his most of all. She wanted to scream and cry and rage at the injustice of it all. It wasn't fair. It wasn't! He didn't deserve this, not him. He, who out of everyone, gave everything and yet received nothing but another impossible feat to overcome. While he had managed to succeed many times before she was afraid that this one would get him, they all were. This would be the death of him.

She hated how true that was.  
"Do you see it?" He asked her, lifting his hand up, and she followed the edge of his arm up to his hand to his fingers to the sky beyond and she saw the world before them. Every possibility, every chance, every mistake, every memory, every first kiss, and every last. She saw new beginnings and children's laughter and the warm feeling of a scarf in winter and the way her mother's lips always curled when she was annoyed. She saw hope and change and death and life. She saw every gravity defining moment, every human being, every tainted soul, every grin full of teeth, every Christmas. She saw it all and she felt the tears roll down her cheeks in warm, silent tracks as he detailed every curve of a rabbit's body, filling in the pure white cloud with colors that they couldn't actually see up there but knew were there. As he described the way it's fur moved with the breeze, the same breeze that was tugging lightly at his black locks, his lifeless locks, and it's paws twitched and nose scrunched up with a sneeze, she let the tears fall faster. And as he kept going on, pointing at it's friend that was only a little distance away, she turned her eyes to his face, to the graceful smile and quiet eyes and relaxed face and he was beautiful in every sense of the word. He was tragically disturbed and it was heart wrenchingly sad and he was human and that's what made him beautiful, what made all of it beautiful. He was everything and nothing at once, her beginning and end, and her favorite story before bed and he didn't even know it.

"Do you see it?" He asked again, turning to face her now and she locked her gaze with his and smiled slowly.

"Yes. Yes, I do." They just weren't seeing the same thing and that made her feel even worse.

The universe was destroyed with a scream and she would never know more. Not again.

* * *

_Six Months Earlier_

He was running. He was always running. Especially lately. He couldn't seem to stop. He didn't know what would happen when he did.

His feet grazed up against the stone pavement below, kicking up little pebbles and stepping on cracks and picking up dirt. The wind whipped harshly at his face, burning his lips, but it was nothing to the heat. Sweat rolled down his neck, down his back, down his chest, down his arms, clinging at his thighs, at his calves, at his clothes, at his hair. It was so hot. It had been for a while now.

The burning in his chest ached but he pushed forward. Just a little bit more, just a little bit farther . . . . He wasn't sure what would be at the end, wasn't sure he wanted to know, but he kept going. He had to do this. He had to get there, had to finish. The why didn't matter. It was how you got there that made the difference. It was the being there that made the moment, that sealed everything.

The sound of his footsteps thrummed loudly in his ears and he pushed away the urge to cover them with his hands, to pull at his hair and yank, yank hard. He could handle it, could handle this. There was nothing that could stop him. He was invincible. Superman. The hero of every child's favorite story. He was the knight in shining armour. The charming prince with the dazzling smile. He was the good guy and they never died.

Except they did. And he was. Dying, he means.

He didn't know what to call this, to name it. He didn't know what he was doing, what he was feeling. His hands still clenched into fists and his breaths still came out labored. It just hurt more to do so now. His back was still taut with tension, only now it was covered with black whips. His face was still undeniably pale, only now it had shadows to marry it. He still wanted to go to Hogsmeade with his friends, to drink butterbeers and dare unsuspecting Hufflepuff's to go into the Shrieking Shack. He still wanted to fly on his broomstick after curfew with nothing but the stars for company, to feel the wind on his face and see the ground, the world, below him. He still wanted to laugh with Sirius, with bright blue hair falling into his face, to listen to Remus tell innocently sweet stories that he had remembered and Harry never knew. He still wanted to do these things, to experience life, but his reasons were different.

He wanted to remember his last first kiss. He wanted to relish the feeling of coming home, straight off of the carriages and through the front gates. He wanted to embrace his friends and tell them he loved them because god they did so much for him and while he knew they knew that already, he wanted to say it, wanted someone to say it to. He wanted to feel his chest tighten with emotion as he pulled on the last Weasley sweater he would ever get, knowing how much effort she always spent on them, on him, on a child that wasn't even hers, on his last first gift all over again. He wanted to get nostalgic as he paced the empty corridors way before breakfast, with his father's cloak slung over his shoulders because that way it almost felt like he was with him for once. He wanted to appreciate all of his last's, to finally get his first's before it was too late. He wanted it all and it wasn't for the sake of just wanting it. He wanted to remember it, to know it, to understand it.

He wanted to live as he died. He felt he deserved it at least, after everything.

And so he ran. He pushed his weak, tired body to the brink of exhaustion, knowing it wasn't healthy, but god he wouldn't be able to do this in a couple of months and he wanted to relish every second of it while he could. Before he couldn't any more. He made his body rise and trudge forward because this was it, this was all he had now. It hurt. Goodness did it hurt. But he knew it would be worth it. This would all be worth it.

He would make sure his life had been worth living, had been worth dying for. He owed all of them that.

When would he collapsed on the grass later, chest heaving and face flushed red, he wouldn't regret it. When he would drench his whole body in water and gulp down air quite selfishly, he wouldn't stop it. When he felt his muscles cramp and tug and his eyes squint in pain as he rested before the toilet bowl, heaving his guts out once again, he wouldn't change it.

He had to do this.

He had to.

**A/N: I'm baaaaaack! I'm aware that this is very short but it's the opening. Following chapters will all be longer, I promise. I have this whole fic planned out and it's a bit different than the first one but it has the main focus point the same. For those of you who had read the "first draft", the only difference is that Harry isn't a cold Slytherin in this one. He's his Gryffindor self with his same friends (plus a few others here) but he still holds the same secrets and the same changes to the storyline are here. He's just more friendly in this one. I almost didn't do that but yeah. I decided to in the end. You'll see. I will be updating this soon, don't worry. I feel like this is already better than my first attempt with this idea. I think you'll like it more. Though this one is more sad. It's got a different feel to it, as you've probably already noticed.**

**Also, before anyone says anything, Harry is not emo. He is not depressed or suicidal or full of self-pity. He will have depressing moments but it's understandable given his condition (you'll see). So don't even mention that at all. Like seriously it's my biggest source of annoyance. The very second I make Harry sad someone always claims him to be emo. HE IS NOT. Okay? Okay.**

**I have this mapped out to be roughly 30 chapters, which includes an epilogue, so there's that. You know the pairing. Um . . . I plan on updating once a week. Maybe more or less if life gets in the way. First year of college so you understand.**

**Other than that, thanks for sticking with me and/or reading this chapter. It's going to be a nice ride guys.**

**Please review. (I'd prefer any kind of criticism to be left out though. It makes me not want to write anything at all.)**


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